Date: Sat, 28 Oct 2006 19:34:10 +0000
From: Jo Vincent
Subject: Mystery and Mayhem at St Mark's: 6 -7
Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's
by
Joel
Some of the Characters Appearing: [Year 2000]
Mark Henry Foster 16 rising 17, 5ft 11in and
still growing
Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams 17 just about 18, 6ft and
well-proportioned
Ivo Richie Carr 19 5ft 10in, chunky and
cheeky with it
Adam Benjamin Carr 19 ditto as his twin
At St Mark's College Cambridge
Charles (Clarissa) Fane-Stuart The 'Servant of the Chapel' and Footlights
star
David (Dingley) Dell The Augustus Pennefather organ
scholar Oct 1998-Jul 2001
Albert Tomkins An authoritarian Head Porter with an
elephantine memory
Jason Knott An Assistant Porter with long
antecedents
Bryce (Babyballs) McArdle A sullen overlooked over-muscled Aussie rugger
forward
Rev Dr Basil Henson A very astute Chaplain
Dr Safar Al-Hamed A knowledgeable Music don
Professor James Tanner A formidable Mathematics don
Mr Simon Finch-Hampton A two-faced History don with a guilty secret
6. My Introduction to Cambridge
Mum had re-packed my bag for me the previous morning so all I had to do was
to assemble my washing kit and I was ready. The twins had phoned the night
before just before we had gone next door and had informed me they would be
waiting on Cambridge station and would see Tris and I wouldn't get lost
finding the hotel. So all was well. Tris and I left in good time and got
to Liverpool Street Station well before the train was due to leave. The
twins were as good as their word and we took a taxi to the hotel. After
booking in and being shown to a very nice room - with two single beds, bah!
- Tris and I met up with the twins in the lobby and went for a guided tour
of Cambridge centre.
We sat for ages in Starbucks near the Market Place while they filled
us in on Cambridge lore. I learned a lot more about St Mark's. I knew
already that it was a small college, tucked away behind some of the larger
ones, but that it had a long history going back to around 1400 when its
main job was supplying holy clerks for the monasteries and churches around
East Anglia. Over the years its fortunes had waned but it had retained
many links with the aristocracy as it tended to house the younger and the
dimmer scions of the stately homes of England.
Also, as Ivo informed us, its other reputation was shared with the
more modern colleges of St Edmunds and Hughes Hall - that of housing the
great majority of boaties and rugger-buggers intent on winning places in
the Boat Race crews, or going for a Blue in the Oxford versus Cambridge
rugger matches. Unfortunately, it seemed that St Marks came off third best
there with the cream - or scum as Adam sagely said - rising to the top in
the other two colleges. Still, the twins said they were happy and had
played in the college XV in their first two terms and looked forward in the
Summer term to pursuing the totties even more by offering to take them
punting on the Cam. As Adam said, "there are well-known shady nooks along
to Grantchester, not including the nudist camp".
They'd also done a bit of sleuthing of their own about the elusive
Augustus Pennefather. Elusive, because I hadn't had any other information
except the tales from Grandmother Foster that Granddad had been a prize
chorister and that Augustus had been found drowned in the Cam below the
weir on Jesus Green in 1938. Apparently he had left a tidy fortune to the
College, derived from family connections with the pharmaceutical industry,
but the College had never had another Music Fellow and the Choir School had
been closed and the pupils dispersed to King's and St John's just before
the War in 1939. The Choir School buildings were now converted to student
accommodation.
The twins had done a bit more nosing around as the Augustus
Pennefather Organ Scholar always had the old don's set of rooms which,
according to them were palatial but haunted. That is, haunted if anyone
else attempted to take them over. Of course, Tris had been to the College
for his interview but the twins said I didn't need to see it until the next
morning when I went there first of all to try out the organ. In any case,
we'd better get back to the hotel as we didn't want to be late for dinner.
While Tris and I were up seeing the room and unpacking when we arrived
earlier they had booked dinner in the restaurant for seven o'clock.
Four well-fed lads concluded a very substantial meal at about
half-past nine. The twins said that they would write and thank Tris's dad.
As we said goodnight to them in the lobby Ivo turned to me. "Early night
for you, me lad," I was informed, "We don't want you falling asleep while
you're playing all that interminable Bach tomorrow. And, as for you," he
turned his attention to Tristan, "No keeping him awake with your insatiable
demands." Ivo and Adam were well aware of Tris's sexual needs and his
stamina. Adam laughed and gave Tris a playful punch on the arm. "We'll
see you here on the doorstep dead on ten in the morning and if our little
cousin is tired out there'll be another body below the weir!"
Little cousin indeed! I was at least two inches taller than either of
the pair of them but it was nice of them to be so concerned about my
welfare.
So, we had an early night. I peed and showered first while Tris was
downstairs checking for the ninety-ninth time what time breakfast was to be
served in the morning. Actually, he'd been down and pinched a single red
rose from the lobby display and when I came out of the shower I found it on
the pillow of the bed I'd chosen.
"That's for you," he said. "It might sound a bit sentimental but it's
almost as if we're on our honeymoon. A hotel room and just the two of
us...."
".....but no shenanigans tonight as I must be fresh as a daisy in the
morning," I countered, shaking my head and putting on a straight face.
Poor Tris. He looked so woebegone. I relented. I'd fooled him. I put my
still-damp arms round him. "Go and have a shower and I will let you into
my bed. It's still early and I want to talk to you anyway."
Some boys can shower quickly when there is a promise of things to
come.
I was just in bed so I opened up the duvet as he came into the bedroom.
"I hope you washed all the important bits," I said as he hopped onto the
bed and landed beside me. As usual we put our arms around each other and
just savoured the closeness of our two bodies. "I want to talk to you
first," I stroked his back feeling the muscles over his shoulder-blades, "I
want to say how glad and happy I am that we can be together like this and
you want to be with me. I'll need your presence tomorrow but I shall know
you'll be there caring so deeply for me."
He moved over slightly and gently kissed me on my nose. He stroked my
back as well. "Marky, I have to be with you."
We moved our heads together and kissed each other on the lips, just
brushing the tips of our tongues. We lay still for a couple of minutes.
"I want to tell you about last night," I whispered. "I want to tell
you about Francis and what happened." Tris was suddenly alert. "No Tris,
nothing like that happened. We talked."
I told Tris exactly what had happened. Francis's appearance by my
bed, his questions and that final refusal on both our parts to be tempted.
"When I looked at Francis standing there I saw myself and I really
wanted him. I wanted him so badly but I knew I couldn't..."
Tris kissed my cheek. "Yes, he came and asked me if he should ask you
to tell him things. I said that was what big brothers are for so it was my
fault you were tempted. I'm sorry. Frankie is just beautiful, he reminds
me of you when I first began to realise I loved you. You've just described
how his body looks. That was how I saw you first at Disney and the months
following when you developed so quickly. I wanted you so terribly all that
time. I wanted to smother you with love and share my body with you." He
brushed his cheek against mine. "When I plucked up courage to tell you of
my love you accepted me immediately and I knew all was right with the
world." He shook his head slowly against me. "I couldn't have blamed you
if you had succumbed to that temptation. If he has as lovely a young cock
as you had when you were thirteen and a half I would have been sorely
tempted, too. Don't forget, that was when I first tried taking you into my
mouth and found you fitted perfectly." He shook his head again. "No,
Marky I couldn't have blamed you, but I'm so glad you didn't."
Gradually and gently we began to explore each other's bodies. The
duvet was discarded as I sat up and caressed his well-formed pecs. I bent
over and touched his nipple with the tip of my tongue and then drew rings
around the pinkness surrounding it. I put a hand on his firm stomach and
felt the firm muscles beneath his soft skin. I lay back and he repeated my
actions while I basked in the full-blown sensuality of his so-light touch.
"You are so beautiful, too," he whispered as he put his head down next
to mine on the pillow. "You may not be as sporty as me but you have a
really superb body. You look like one of those lovely statues we've seen
in Italy." His hand went gradually down my torso and I shivered with
delight as he brushed his fingers across my belly and into my pubic hair.
His fingers touched my fully erect penis. "There's one big difference,
though. Not only do you look as beautiful but you possess that flawless
addition which they only have in miniature. Yours is perfect. Whatever
the twins say, I need you tonight. I need to feel that perfection and to
taste those juices only you can produce for me."
I felt the same about him. I whispered that I needed to taste that
sweetness which always came when I first laved the tip of his most mighty
weapon and then to revel in the tang of the potent juice which would spurt
and flow in abundance. Gradually we tongued each other's firm young bodies
and turned head to toe diagonally on the bed until simultaneously we tested
each other's first sweet outflow and then slowly but relentlessly we sucked
on those youthful rods and licked and nipped our rapidly risen ball sacs
until both of us sensed the other's climax was near. I received Tris's
jerking, spirting,
teeming load, swallowing as much as I could, moments before I passed into
that state where nothing else could ever matter. I felt those massive
jolts deep in the root of my shaft, then felt the surge as my spunk
gathered pace and my face and neck muscles went into that involuntary
rictus of perfect rapture as I gave Tris my love, my being, me.
We unwound slowly. Both of us were panting with the extreme exertion
caused by such gradual and unhurried means. Both of us lay and must have
shared the same thoughts of complete togetherness as without a word our
hands touched and our fingers linked. We turned and our tongues collided,
still coated with the other's self.
"That was my love for you," Tris murmured as we parted.
"Mine, too," was my heartfelt response.
I found the duvet on the floor and pulled it up to cover us. We woke
in each other's arms exactly at seven o'clock. At least a full eight hours
sleep for both of us.
I felt so well, so refreshed as I gazed into Tris's blue eyes.
"Thanks for last night," I grinned as he smiled at me. "I don't think
the twins will be bundling you over the bridge. It was perfect."
True. We had sucked each other many times before but there had been
an intensity of regard and respect for each other which transcended all
those other occasions.
We showered and breakfasted, I checked my music and my clarinets and
we were ready waiting when the twins turned up.
They looked at the pair of us. Ivo turned to Adam. "They did and
they had an early night!"
No more was said as we crossed the road to the bridge. "Looks a bit
fast flowing," I said as I nudged Tristan.
"What a way to go," he murmured as we looked down at the rushing and
tumbling water.
We marched steadily across Jesus Green without more conversation, the
twins probably sensing I might be a bit uptight. As we got near King's we
turned down a small dark alley.
"This is a bit like Diagon Alley!" I said spontaneously, almost
looking for the brickwall with the magic brick to press. But as we walked
down there was a narrow lane and I was amazed at what then appeared. A
high wall with a tall tower at one end and with a small door inset.
Ivo opened the door and we stepped inside. What appeared was a
perfect mediaeval building of tall mullion windowed walls with a Chapel
with that tower. Set to the side was a main entrance with a large wooden
door and a smaller one again set within it. Beyond that was another wide
enclosed door which was open and I could down to the river through that.
"This will all be yours" said Adam, holding my arm. "It belongs to
all the students who've ever been here. It's part of us and we're part of
it."
That was said with pride and sincerity. Adam showed again his good
self.
"Have to introduce you to old Albert. He's got a memory like an
elephant. He remembers every student that's been through that door." Ivo
pointed to the wooden door in the porch. "He's the Head Porter. Mr
Tomkins to us mortals, Old Albert otherwise. So, here we go."
We turned into the inner porch and there was another door with glass
in it. Above it the legend 'Porter's Lodge'. There was somewhat of a
commotion going on within. We entered and stood in a row by the door. I
took in the scene. Old Albert proved to be a small, gnarled old man in a
smart dark suit who was roundly telling off, in a very loud voice, a much
larger young man, who I deduced to be a student, for leaving his bicycle
not in the proper rack. His tirade finished he surveyed we four as the
large young man turned and rushed past us out of the door.
"Mr Carr and Mr Carr, sirs," he said, much more quietly, "You are up
early this morning. I saw you hurrying out before nine. I see you've come
back through the Night Door."
"Yes, Mr Tomkins," Ivo said, very politely I thought, "We have been to
collect my cousin and his friend. This is Mark Foster who most probably
will be the next Augustus Pennefather Organ Scholar and his friend..."
"....I know him," interrupted Old Albert, staring at Tristan. "He was
here for interview last year. Let me see. Double-barrelled." He leered
at Tristan who was almost open-mouthed. "Money and father's a QC - money
is Price-", his face screwed up, "- Williams!" he crowed triumphantly.
"Your memory as ever is infallible," said Ivo without a trace of
irony, "Now, what about this young man. We've never let on to you but our
grandfather was here. Our mother's father and his dad's father. His name
was Foster." He turned to me. "I think Grandma said he was here after the
War as an undergraduate though he was here before the War as a chorister."
Old Albert surveyed me. I had the feeling my physiognomy was now
stored in his memory banks. "I've been here fifty four years so I was
kitchen boy then just after the War.... ....Foster you say? Big fellow.
Got caught climbing the tower and the Dean said it was a good job he'd been
head chorister or he'd be rusticated. That was George Foster, then." He
looked at me and I didn't know if the look was venomous or just natural.
"He kicked my arse more than once 'cause he said I was a cheeky young
bugger but there was always a shilling for cleaning his muddy boots.
Played the saxophone in some God-awful jazz band! Ha Ha!" He gave a
cackle and a crooked smile appeared as he bent his head toward me, and held
up a piece of paper. "Good morning, Mr Foster, I was expecting you." He
stopped and looked past us. " ...Mr Fane-Stuart has the key to the Chapel
for you."
There was no time then to ask anything more about Grandad. I wondered
why the twins had kept quiet about him? What a memory though. But Old
Albert's reminiscences were cut short by the appearance of a very smartly
dressed, willowy young man with a short black gown, emblazoned with two red
panels of what looked like a sheep holding a flag, draped over his
shoulders. Oh, yes, the College crest, St Mark's emblem. But my
contemplation was cut short.
"My favourite hunks," he burbled as he held out both hands and clasped
one each of Ivo and Adam's. "How divine you look as always." He turned to
Tristan and me. "And which of you is the lovely Mark Foster described in
such detail by this gorgeous pair." He looked at Tris and held up a hand.
"Not you, my dear, you're too, too blond. They said tall, dark and more
than a little handsome!" He shook a mane of platinum blond hair as he
looked me up and down. "It must be you and that description does your
radiance less than proper justice." He stretched out a beautifully
manicured hand with what seemed like a ring on every finger. "Charles
Fane-Stuart, Servant of the Chapel."
I took his hand in mine and was rather surprised at the very firm
handshake. I realised that even with the affectations Charles Fane-Stuart
was not someone with whom to trifle.
"Yes," I said, "I'm Mark," I turned towards Tristan, "And this is
Tristan Price- Williams my best friend and he'll be a student here next
year and, I believe, will be in the choir."
Tris's hand was grasped in turn while Charles scrutinised him. I knew
Tris was being logged in someone else's memory bank.
"Come along then," he nodded, then turned to the Head Porter. "Albert
dear, I'll take them over to the Chapel, no need to bother your pretty head
with them as naughty young Knott isn't around as usual. That boy spends
more time making beds for those frightful hulks than helping me get the
Chapel in order or busying himself looking after your little Lodge. I
shall have to reprimand him very severely as if that would do any good."
I couldn't help noticing that the twins were heaving with silent
laughter as Tris and I looked rather bewildered at the twists and turns of
the conversation. I noticed that Old Albert said not a word.
Charles Fane-Stuart led the way and the four of us fell in step behind
him. He motioned me to walk with him after a few paces. "Usual allowance
of time to practice. Up to midday and then lunch in Hall. Dr Al-Hamed and
the Chaplain will be at the Chapel just before two-o'clock and I'll
introduce you to them. Dr Al-Hamed looks after our Music students and the
Chaplain will quiz you on various things. Then you've got an interview
with Professor Tanner at four-thirty. Don't worry I'll be around if
needed." He squeezed my arm. "We're fairly harmless. I can't say much
about the rest."
He turned to the twins who were walking as close as possible so they
could overhear what Charles was saying to me, but something had struck a
chord of memory for me, too. Al-Hamed. I had heard that name fairly
recently. But where? Charles raised a slim bejewelled finger. "If I take
young Mark and Tristan to my set they can leave their unwanted things
there. I've got Dingley's keys so I can show Mark where he might be living
for three years." He turned to me and his mane of hair flew about again.
"We're all jealous, my dear, think of the parties you'll be able to host.
Invite me, won't you?"
There was an undertone here and I wasn't quite sure. We turned left
as we crossed the quad and I saw the Chapel. It seemed huge against the
smaller stone and dark red brick three-storey buildings. The tower soared
upwards and I imagined Grandad shinning up the side clutching at the
hideous gargoyles. Not an enterprise for me!
"This is my little home," announced Charles as we passed into a dark
and rather dank passageway. He inserted a key into a very nondescript door
and opened that and an inner door and we walked into the most ornate room I
had ever seen. It was panelled in a dark wood but hung all around with
swathes of brightly coloured silk-like drapery. There were old chairs in
every corner done in more modern very elaborate fabrics. There were
photographs and rather abstract pictures covering spaces left on the walls.
A riot of colour. "Sorry, darlings, if it's a bit OTT but Mother does
interiors and thought my drab old walls needed brightening up. Sit down
there a moment and you can sort out what you need." This to me. He looked
at the others. "Coffee all round? Ivo dearest, pop the kettle on, you're
a familiar spirit around here." He looked at Tris then me and held up both
hands, palms towards us in a most theatrical gesture. "Couldn't survive
without my gorgeous boys! Adam, my hunky hunk, find the biscuits."
I was staring at some of the photos. Most were of a stunning blonde.
They must be of Charles's sister, or perhaps his mother when younger, as
the likeness was there. She was truly beautiful and that was my unbiased
judgement. I caught Tris's eye and his lips were twitching. He was
enjoying himself. As we waited I got my music books ready and opened my
clarinet case and inspected the contents, just in case... I wasn't
agitated... Everything was fine so far... All so new... For some unknown
reason I started to think of that rapid fingering near the end of the
prelude after that peculiar held chord over the long pedal C. Oh God, if
they asked me to analyse that chord! My fingers splayed while I thought of
it - five notes in each hand - B natural D natural, F, A flat, B natural
again in the left and F, A flat, B, D and F in the right. I heard it in my
mind - a diminished seventh. The dissonance ready to set that fleeing
downward dash - the same chord now dispersed resolving towards that final
cadence in F minor but remembering to flatten the D now in that almost
final
semiquaver run. Oh, Bach, how did you imagine such wonderful sounds? I
was drawn back to whatever reality was by a mug of steaming coffee being
handed to me by a grinning Ivo.
He must have been watching me. "Relax, old lad, you know it all."
"Just thinking," I said, "Thanks, I need that but I'd better go to the
loo, too!"
As soon as I had drunk the coffee Ivo guided me through to the next
room, the bedroom, this time quite sparse, and the bathroom and attendant
loo. As I peed gratefully I was struck by a montage made of a series of
photos of that lovely blonde all in different costumes. If that was
Charles' sister she was so elegant and poised. No, nothing stirred. I
thought of Frankie and his confession of the hardening of his organ when
viewing Jack's downloaded pictures. Oh, God, the organ. The other one! I
must get to it.
Calm down, Mark, I commanded myself.
All were ready when I emerged. I picked up my music and the clarinet
case. I needed to test the acoustics for those as well. "See you at
twelve," Adam said as he gripped my arm and Charles opened the Chapel door.
The organ was in a loft above the door. I stood and looked down the
length of the Chapel. It was quite long to the far wall but what really
impressed me was that the ceiling was so high and the roof timbers were
richly painted. Charles led me to the door leading to the stairs. "The
blower motor switch is in the box on the wall. The pistons I am told are
all free except for the six on the right side under the Great. Here's the
instructions." He gave me a small pamphlet. I glanced at the first page.
Piston setting seemed very much the same as St Barnabas's. Tris followed
me up the stairs. I glanced at the console. Nothing out of the ordinary.
I checked the position of the various families. Good, reeds had red
lettering and the strings were in green while the rest were in black. I
spent five minutes going through my notes and experimenting with the set
pistons. Yes, a gradual build-up to full chorus on the Great with full
Swell prepared. OK for the Bach Prelude. Piston 4 then 5 for the held
chord, the run on the Choir chorus until the cadence on 5 at the end.
Clear stops for the fugue to show up the counterpoint. Yes. I set two of
the free pistons up for that. Mendelssohn. A little more romantic. A
soft string added somewhere. Fuller tone for the fugue. Then the Alain.
A challenge. I tried the Cromorne. Lovely. I built a chorus around that
and set three more pistons. Those splashy chords would be OK with a bit of
help from Tris.. I looked at him. "I'm ready," I said. He bent over me
and kissed my neck lightly.
Everything went well. Surprisingly I could hear the organ well from
the console. It was something Reggie had warned me about. "Don't be
misled and add stops because you can't hear." I could hear and everything
flowed. I played through the complete programme without repeating
anything. At one point I asked Tris to draw a Mixture stop. I didn't like
it so asked him to cancel it. Otherwise I didn't think I wanted to change
anything.
When I finished that last chord of the Fantaisie and closed down the
Swell box to an ethereal almost nothingness, then cancelled everything I
turned and looked at Tris. Tears were coursing down his cheeks. He stood
and wept. "Oh, Marky, you've never played so well. It was beautiful.
That Fantaisie! I can't help it." He sniffed and searched in his pockets
for his handkerchief. As I stood up from the organ bench he held me in his
arms. "My Marky!" I smiled. "My Tris," I whispered back.
It was a few minutes before twelve so we sat together in the choir
stalls and looked at the lovely building and I tried out a couple of short
passages on one of my clarinets. I stood up and walked down the nave. The
acoustic was perfect. As I walked I looked at the monuments and plaques to
past dons and students, the two war memorials and the muted colours of two
magnificent medieval stained-glass windows. "I shall think of you sitting
here singing in the choir next year," I said as I walked back to where Tris
was sitting. I put my clarinet down and took his hand in mine.
"And I will be waiting for you to join me with you sitting up there,"
he whispered gripping my hand.
We heard the main door being opened. In came Ivo, Adam and Charles.
"We stood outside and listened," said Ivo. "You're a star!"
"I've got to convince the jury this afternoon," I said.
Charles smiled at that. But I sensed there was more.
Lunch in Hall was substantial if rather dull - like school dinners but
hotter I thought. There was a sprinkling of others in the dining room -
another panelled room this time lined with large portraits of be-gowned
ancient dons. Quite a few of the young men were quite immense, if not just
tall they were barrel-chested and big-arsed. They were invariably in
voluminous dark red hooded tops with names and letters on the back and grey
or black jogging pants. Others looked like ordinary students and it was
noticeable they sat at the other ends of the long benches away from the
others.
"Come on, sweethearts," Charles said as the last of our plates was
deftly removed by a suave young man in white shirt, black waistcoat and
black trousers. "Let's repair to my room and relax and I can show you
Dingley's little den as well. He's not around as he's organ-crawling and
beer-drinking in Bavaria. He'll come back even more of a little barrel!
He's a sweet thing, though."
We left the dining hall with the majority of the large young men still
chomping away. I asked Charles who they were as I walking by his side.
"They are our mainstay. They are the muscle-bound and the brain-dead.
Mustn't be catty but all they think about is winning through brute strength
and there are some brutes among them.." He lowered his voice. "Not like
your darling cousins who combine strength and beauty with brains. They may
act the thicko role with some of the Neanderthals but they are perfection.
And if I may comment, your friend is perfection, too. And he's coming here
next year?" He looked at me and smiled. "Don't worry, he'll come to no
harm. We'll see to that."
We reached the passage way we'd entered before. This time Charles
turned to the left and opened identical doors to his own. But now, the
room revealed was in no way like his. It was panelled in a radiant light
oak, the windows were draped in heavy, rich material and in one corner
stood a small grand piano. I cast my eyes around in wonderment. There
were a few smallish oil paintings on the walls hung from what looked like
organ stops. Below there was a sumptuous turkey-red patterned carpet over
the dark stained and polished floor boards with a dining table and chairs
and several comfortable looking easy chairs in front of a handsome stone
fireplace. I looked up to the high ceiling which was beamed and pargetted.
I gasped. I couldn't believe it. If I became the Augustus Pennefather
Organ Scholar this would be my room in less then two years time.
"Come my dears, gawp not too long, this is only the first of the set."
Charles led us into a smaller room set out as a study with bookshelves and
a very superior desk. I looked at the titles of some of the books. Study
scores, music text books and... ...a set of ornately bound detective and
other stories. I saw Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, Rex Stout, M R James,
Edgar Allan Poe amongst others. But, there was more. The next room was
the bedroom. A four-poster as the centre-piece, but, I noticed, made up
with a modern duvet. A shower room and loo completed that direction. From
the main room a small passage led to a well-appointed kitchen with a
storeroom and pantry on either side. I gasped again. It was luxury. No
way could I aspire to this. The cost of furnishing it. The upkeep. I
knew my tutorial fees and general living expenses would be accounted for
under the Scholarship and there was an extra hundred and fifty pounds as a
stipend as it was called. But all this?
Charles must have seen my look of wonder. "Lawks a mercy," he said
putting on a real cockney voice, "The young shaver's jaw's just hit the
floor." He stood by me and waved a hand nonchalantly towards the ceiling.
"In the sainted Augustus's Will it says nothing may be changed, just
replaced or repaired, with all monies for said replacements or repairs to
be provided by the endowments as listed. Canny old beast. His stocks and
shares were in the early ICI and in Royal Dutch Shell and in about six of
the big pharmaceutical companies of the time. The underlying fund is
colossal and the college can't get its hands on it because if they try it
all goes to Christ Church Oxford. So David Dell is the present lucky
recipient of dear Augustus's ill-gotten or otherwise gains. The Scholar,
the Chapel and the organ are the only beneficiaries."
Adam had been listening intently. "Yeah, my tutor's always moaning
about it. Says the old bastard got his idea from Samuel Pepys. He left
his library to Magdalene and if they don't look after it then Trinity gets
it."
"True," said Charles, "So our organ scholar gets all this. Of course,
in recompense the other two get their rooms done out in a bit less
splendour but I am reliably informed that that scamp, naughty young Knott,
has been reputed to warm their beds for a fee."
Ivo laughed. "You leave young Jason out of it. Just because you
frighten him to death and he won't run around polishing all that brass in
the Chapel...."
Charles tossed his head, or his mane to be exact. ".....All I did was
compliment the lad. I said he had the cutest little bubble-butt and I
could get him a job in the Footlights chorus line any time." He looked at
his watch. "Mustn't gossip any longer, my dears, the musical moment is
fast approaching."
While he had been talking I had looked more closely at what the
pictures were hung from. Yes they were organ stops, I spotted a Stopped
Diapason and a Cor de Nuit next to it. Not only that, there seemed to be
almost a frieze of them along the walls opposite and adjacent to the
windows. I couldn't investigate further as he ushered us out and we went
across the passage into his set. I rushed to his loo and had a nervous
pee.
Not much, but you never know. Dad was for ever saying that his last stop
before going on stage was always to the gents! I gathered up my books and
Tris had already picked up my clarinet case so we followed Ivo and Adam out
and I waited while Charles shut and checked his door was locked. As he
turned to follow me a lumbering giant came down a flight of stairs towards
the end of the passage. He barged into Charles and put an enormous meaty
paw out and pushed him against the wall. I stepped aside very smartly.
"Move ya bloody self you flaming pouf!" he snarled at Charles who
stood his ground as the mountain turned to him. I recognised an Australian
accent. "I told you to get outta the fuckin' way, didn't I, ya bloody
freak? Fuckin' pouf!" The last almost spat out.
Charles neither moved nor spoke. The huge young man, even bigger than
any I'd seen in the dining hall just barged past me, slammed back the main
door and strode off across the quad. I looked at Charles who just shook
his head at me. Ivo came to the outside door.
"Did I hear Babyballs Bryce in here?" he asked. "What did he say this
time?"
Charles looked at me then at Ivo. "Nothing, sweet one. Nothing for
you to worry your good self about. Bryce the Formidable was just acting
his part and we all know he only goes in for small parts...."
Ivo grinned. "Charles, you're incorrigible. If Bryce said half the
things he says to you, to me, or anyone else, he'd be up before the Dean.
Why do you put up with it? He tipped you in the fountain at Christmas and
what he was roaring, when he got drunk that other time, was unbelievable.
It even silenced the boaties and they've heard almost everything."
Charles came out and put a hand on Ivo's arm. "The poor dear can't
help it but I'm afraid someone some day will be a teensy weensy bit angry
with him. It's all those horrid pills he's been gulping down since he was
a nipper. Nipped his little buds they have and he still wants more. Come
on, lovely one, let's get young Mark to his testing-place."
The other two were now listening in but said nothing. Charles took my
arm and we walked along a path in front of the Pennefather Student's set to
the Chapel.
I noticed that end of the rooms must abut against the massive soaring
wall.
It was exactly five minutes to two. I went through the porch with
Charles and just inside the Chapel were two men. One large, clad in a
vividly patterned pullover and a dog- collar. Must be the Chaplain. The
other, much smaller, middle-aged, smartly but casually dressed. I looked
at his face. He was very handsome still, I could see how he might have
looked twenty or thirty years ago. His features were dark, high cheekbones
and an aquiline nose. I realised he was Arabic. This must be Dr Al-Hamed.
7. The Audition
Charles, Tris and I stood in a row before them. I was feeling a
little more than nervous. "Dr Henson, Dr Al-Hamed, may I present Mark
Foster, the candidate for today," Charles said indicating me with a mildly
theatrical gesture. I stepped forward and was immediately heartened by the
smiles I received and the warm handshakes. "And this is his assistant,
Tristan Price-Williams, who will be joining us next academic year dependent
on his examination results." Charles turned to Tris and me. "I'll leave
you now and will be back at four-fifteen for your interview," he nodded at
me, "with Professor Tanner."
Dr Al-Hamed was obviously in charge. "You have prepared the required
piece?" he asked and smiled. I nodded and said 'Yes'. He looked at a
piece of paper on a clip-board. "And you have chosen Mendelssohn, the D
major Sonata and the Alain Deuxieme Fantaisie." I said 'Yes' again.
"Right, then. Before you start I have to give you some ear-tests. What is
your sense of pitch like?"
"Relative," I said, "But I can usually pitch an A and work from
there."
"Try it," he said.
I looked at the nearest plaque to concentrate. I read 'Hic jacet....'
and sang out as firmly as I could. We were standing just by a grand piano
parked under the organ loft. Dr Al-Hamed hit a key. It was A. "Perfect,"
he said. "What's this chord?" He played an arpeggio up on a major chord,
then repeated it as a chord. "First inversion." I paused and took a
guess. He was on my side. "First inversion A major."
He laughed. "Yes, an easy one to start. What about this?"
This was easy, too. It was that chord in the Bach. "Full diminished
seventh."
Two chords followed. "Tonic followed by augmented fifth."
He was nodding. "OK, last one coming up."
Had he guessed something? I shivered as the chord rang out. The
chord was so familiar, the notes as written, F, B natural, D sharp and G
sharp. It was the chord I always played or heard in my mind when he
appeared on the scene. "That's the Tristan chord," I said softly, "The
opening chord of Tristan and Isolde. It's a half dominant seventh
according to the books."
"Show me," he said, getting up from the piano stool.
I sat and played those haunting rising few notes of the Prelude. A to
F, down a semitone to E, then that chord. I played to the end of the
phrase. The seventh sounding again. That yearning for fulfilment.
"I can see that means a lot to you." He turned to Tris and smiled.
"I can see why."
He turned back to me. "I won't spend any more time on those tests.
Anyway, these days, composers seem to take great delight in devising chords
which baffle the rest of us."
I heard the Chaplain grunt. "That last anthem the choir sang, Lord
only knows how they pitched half the notes. Anyway it's my turn." He came
and plonked a hymn book on the music rest in front of me. "You say you're
a tenor. Let's hear you sing that part in that tune." He pointed at the
page. I knew the tune well, 'Irish'. He banged a note. "There you are
key of E, G sharp." I sang through the whole tune. He grunted at the end.
"OK, come Sunday at Matins you find the first bass has lost his voice, the
second bass is missing because he's gone to his grandmother's funeral and
the last and only other bass was hit on the larynx playing rugger
yesterday. You have to deputise as the third verse is choir only." He hit
an E in the bass. I dropped my voice and even hit the two low G sharps
quite firmly. He grunted again.
I saw Dr Al-Hamed look at his watch. "Time to play. Don't rush.
Have a pause between each of the three pieces. OK?"
I picked up my music and went to the winding staircase closely
followed by Tris. He patted my arm at the top as I settled on the organ
bench and put the Bach up in front of me. He pressed the button to set the
blower motor going. I waited a few moments then pressed the pistons to set
the manuals and the pedals. I was off.
Everything went according to plan. I made one change. Just as I was
coming near the end of the Bach prelude I whispered to Tris. "After the
last run add the Choir Cymbel. I'll nod when." I knew that would add that
extra sparkle to the wonderful cadence. Spot on. I was pleased with the
result.
The Mendelssohn went a treat. I even smiled to myself when the scales
and the twos against threes occurred. Microbe might get another five pound
note. I played the Fantaisie with as much feeling as you can put into such
a mechanical monster as a three-manual organ. Those crunchy, slushy chords
were just right. The soft curlicues of those strange little Moroccan tunes
were flawless. That lovely French Cromorne was perfection for the short
phrase I had chosen it for. Tris never faltered as he followed my playing
and changed stops as indicated on my stuck-on notes. I did make one error
when I misread which piston to press just as I was reducing the Swell.
Luckily I spotted too many stops popped out on the Great which was to be
used next and quickly pressed the correct one. I lingered on that last
chord thinking it was a good job I didn't have to analyse it and gently
closed the box so all we were left with was... For some reason Alice in
Wonderland popped into my head. Yes, ...the grin.
Tris patted me on the arm. "Terrific," he whispered.
We waited a few moments then the Chaplain called up. "Thank you! Now
on the music box is a copy of "All hail the power". Tris passed it to me.
Yes. The tune was 'Miles Lane'. A great favourite of Reggie's who
delighted in what could be done with it. "I want you to play three verses.
First registered for general congregation. I suggest the set piston number
four. The next verse just accompanying the choir and the final verse the
choir will be in unison with the congregation and you can do as you please
for a few bars to end. OK. When you are ready."
I set piston four. Great to principal. I chose some quiet stops on
the Choir for the second verse. I said quietly to Tris. "Last verse I
need to build so listen."
Off I went. A fairly sedate pace for the congregational verse, a bit
more rubato and an increase in the enclosed Choir in the chair case behind
me towards the end for the second verse. For the final verse I pressed
piston six which I knew drew almost all the major stops and couplers. I
closed the Swell a bit and set off. Tris was a marvel. I opened the swell
more and more until it was fully open at the end of the second line. "Top
mixture on Great," I instructed Tris, "And then all on Choir and Swell
going up." That reached the end of the third line. "Pedal flues and all
Great." Wow that was a build-up. I let loose on the held notes with
dashing pedal runs and curlicues of my own in the middle parts.
"Bombarde!" Tris drew that final sixteen foot reed stop on the pedals and
I gave them the full organ for the final two bars and carried on developing
the 'To crown Him' notes over a long held pedal A flat with some unknown
chords and sequences of my devising before resting on that glorious low D
flat which the powerful Bombarde underpinned before rising to the E flat
then the A flat of the final chord.
I sat back and pressed the General Cancel toe piston. Tris shut off
the blower motor and we descended to the chapel. The Chaplain and Dr
Al-Hamed were sitting on the two chairs just inside the altar rails.
"You enjoyed that," the Chaplain said as I walked up to them. "You
see how loud it can be in here." He looked at his fellow assessor who had
his clipboard on his lap. I could see the page was filled with small, neat
writing. "Two questions and he's yours again."
Dr Al-Hamed smiled. "I'll go and get prepared." Tris followed him
down the nave and I could hear them chatting quietly.
As they walked away the Chaplain said, "I just need to know general
things. It's correct you are confirmed in the Church of England?" I
nodded. I knew it was a condition of holding any Chapel post. "And your
beliefs? You are happy to conform to the general tenor of the liturgy?" I
said I was, but I still had doubts. "True, we all have doubts and it's
honest of you to tell me that now." He smiled. "Back to music now."
I walked to the back of the Chapel. Dr Al-Hamed was smiling and Tris
was grinning, too.
"Second instrument time now. Get your breath back because you'll
need it and your friend can get some fresh air now."
I winked at Tris and mouthed 'Thanks" as he passed me to reach the
Chapel door. I got out my B flat clarinet. I had glanced at the music
already set up on the stand and saw it said 'Clarinet B flat' at the top.
Dr Al-Hamed came up to me and smiled.
"I noticed you dropped the key of the hymn by a semitone." Yes, it
was printed in A major and I'd played it in A flat major.
"I'd tried the Bombarde this morning and that bottom D flat just rang
out. I wanted to use it and I usually play that tune at home in the lower
key as the ladies can't all reach an E."
He laughed and nodded. "Two good reasons. Yes, I agree with the
first and I don't know your ladies, but I can imagine!" He pointed.
"Sight reading. That passage and that one." Thank goodness, I thought,
it's the same book that I've got at home. Sight-reading over Dr Al-Hamed
walked to the piano. "I see you have the Mozart with you. Shall we try
the slow movement?" I changed clarinets and checked my reed was set
properly. I nodded to him and we started that oh-so beautiful adagio. His
accompaniment was perfect. I felt so relaxed but also so alert. I
remembered all the nuances of Jack Brymer's playing and managed the runs
and the little cadenza impeccably. I was ready to launch into the last
movement but he stood up and smiled. I was just undoing my clarinet when I
saw the imperceptible nod which passed between him and the Chaplain. As I
wrapped my clarinet in the protective duster the door opened and a tall
late-middle-aged man came in.
The Chaplain looked up at him. "Oh, hello James, are we running over
time?"
He laughed. "No, I'm a bit early and I've been listening outside."
He turned to me. "You must be Mark Foster, I'm James Tanner." We shook
hands. This must be the Maths don. He laughed again. "You have some very
powerful advocates out there." He turned to the Chaplain again. "The Carr
twins have been bending my ear." It was the turn of the Chaplain to laugh.
"We'll leave you to it." He shook hands with me. "Thank you for
coming. I was very impressed. We will, of course, in the words of all
interviewers, let you know as soon as possible." He turned to Dr Al-Hamed.
"Come on, Safar, we'll continue this over tea."
Dr Al-Hamed gathered up his clip board, smiled at me and shook my
hand.
"Most impressive," was his comment.
No sooner had they gone out and we had just settled on two chairs by
the piano when the door handle rattled and the door swung open. A
youngish, sandy-haired, thin-faced man came in, spied us and came over.
"Didn't expect to see you here, Tanner. Harvard this time?" he said
in a rather peevish manner.
"No, Simon, it was Yale," James Tanner said very evenly. Even I could
sense some hostility here.
The other man sniffed and looked at me. "I don't know if you're one
of mine. The Bursar's Secretary seems to have made more errors than
usual." He consulted the piece of paper he was holding.
"I'm Mark Foster," I said. He hadn't attempted an introduction.
"Yes, Foster, I see." He looked at James Tanner. "I got diverted by
those noisy Carr twins. I told Adam to do me another essay before term
started as the last one only deserved a beta. Chattering away, he took not
a blind bit of notice. There was that so-called Servant of the Chapel
there...." He looked around. "This place should have been closed down
years ago. Drains money. All that could be usefully diverted..." He
looked at me. "The other one. Friend of yours? Blond, pink and rather
sweet?" He gave a nasally laugh. A good imitation of a nanny-goat. I
realised I was not supposed to answer. He consulted the piece of paper
again. "Foster." He ran his finger across the information there. "Yes, I
know the school. South of the Thames." I was given what could only be
construed as a disparaging once over. "I suppose you're one of the thick
autumnal leaves that strow the brooks of Balham Broadway?"
I'd had enough. Stuff Cambridge if this was what you got! I
hesitated, the others weren't like this, though. I must have had an
adrenalin rush from the afternoon and I wasn't cooled down yet. I couldn't
stop myself. I looked at him and said carefully with as chilly a voice as
I could muster. "I would prefer to be strown in Vallombrosa and I don't
think I'm particularly thick."
He was taken aback. Not only by someone with knowledge of the error
in the Hansard Report but of Paradise Lost as well, and, to boot, was also
ready to answer back. He recovered his composure, whatever that was.
"Pert lad!" He shook his head. "Though more erudite than that
over-privileged object yesterday." He shook the paper and turned to James
Tanner. "Obviously not one of mine, I see he wishes to read Mathematics!
I'll say good day."
With that he turned on his heel and positively rushed from the Chapel.
James Tanner let out a large exhalation of breath. He smiled at me
and shook his head. "That was Simon Finch-Hampton our illustrious History
don."
"I shouldn't think of reading History, then?" I said. I knew I could
say something like that to this man.
"You'd be well taught but you'd have to toe the line." He looked at
me closely. "What is your connection with the Carr twins? I see a
resemblance."
I grinned. We had the same shape of nose, the same set of the eyes
and shared rather large ears. "They're my cousins," I admitted.
He nodded. "Yes, I see the resemblance. I know them well as I'm
President of the College Rugger Club and they are valued members of the
team. Yes. They're a nice pair of lads. But enough of family. My job is
to see if you have any mathematical talent as well as that musical ability
you were displaying so well this afternoon." He drew out a piece of paper
from his pocket. "You're only in the First Year Sixth so I don't expect
you to give me the sort of answers I would expect this time next year." He
pointed at a formula, the top one of three. "What can you tell me about
that."
I recognised it immediately. I'd become hooked on statistics since
hearing of Jack's own interest and he'd said his father would always help
if I had problems. No problems so far. I'd used Tris's and my own data of
certain emissions in practising doing descriptive statistics.
"It's the formula for the standard deviation of a set of data."
"Nominal, ordinal or interval?"
"Interval."
That was that. For the next quarter of an hour I explained all I knew
about collecting and describing different forms of data. He showed me a
second formula. My knowledge of tan theta was plumbed. Finally I had to
expound on my elementary understanding of the concept of limits.
When I'd finished and was a bit breathless he stuck the paper back in
his pocket. "Well, Mark, if you get what's required in the A Levels I'll
offer you a place for two thousand and one. That's with or without being
the next Pennefather Scholar. You'll be in my tutor group and I warn you I
don't take to slackers kindly. I spoke to your Head of Maths this morning.
We played rugger together here too many years ago. He was most
complimentary, so, keep it up." He lowered his voice. "And take it from
me, we're not all like Mr Finch-Hampton!"
We stood and shook hands. As soon as he was gone I collected my
clobber but there was a rush as four youngsters rushed into the chapel. I
was surrounded and all I could hear was a confused babble. "You were
terrific!" "What did Professor Tanner say?" "Why was Pinch-bum Hamster
here?"
I held up my hands and this quietened them.
"Gentlemen of the jury!"
"Stuff it!" said Adam, "What did they ask and what did they tell you?"
I thought I would give them the good news first. "Professor Tanner
told me he would accept me as a student even if I didn't get the
Pennefather..." Four bodies crowded me and nearly thumped me to death. I
fended them off. "Sorry, but I don't know anything else, except I was
probably rude to some nasty little man."
"Bloody Pinch-bum I bet," snarled Adam, "Bastard told me to pull my
socks up or he wouldn't be responsible for the consequences."
A silvery laugh came from Charles. "He gave the poor dear lines for
being slovenly. I shouldn't worry, sweet one, a beta from him is like
gold-dust." He flapped a hand. "Better than being made to stand in the
corner. That's what I'd make you do. I could gaze on you, then.."
"Shut up, Charles, you'll give these two ideas," said Ivo almost
doubled over with laughter.
"Well, darlings," said Charles, "What are we to do? Precious Mark
will have to wait and stew on the other."
Ivo looked at Tris. "Think your Dad will stand for an extra little
mouth tonight?"
Tris twigged immediately. He turned to Charles. "Would you join us
for dinner tonight? We're at the Arundel. Half past seven."
Charles smiled. "I would be delighted...." He looked from Adam to
Ivo. "...That is, if I may be allowed to scan the wine list to discern
something with a suitable bouquet. Mother has been most generous with her
alms for the needy this Easter." He flapped his hands. "What Mr Horrid of
Harrods thinks of his lady's boudoir is not for me to divulge but Mother
has transferred a mite or two of her reward to my safe-keeping..." He blew
us all a kiss. "I'll be on your doorstep in good time. Now off you go
sweet princes. I have to shut up the bally shop."
Tris and I exchanged amused glances as he picked up my clarinet case
and I bundled my music together. I looked at my watch. Gosh it was just
past five o'clock. My fate was sealed but at least I would follow in
Grandad's footsteps. All being well I would be at St Mark's.
Adam and Ivo asked if we would be OK walking back to the hotel. I
said I needed the exercise to relax me a bit and I had to phone home, like
ET, as soon as I got there. They said they would come across with Charles
at half seven, and not to forget to book a table for five, and to give my
parents their love and include Francis in that, too. Tris said he was
starving as we walked past Trinity College. Nadia's Patisserie was still
open so he popped in and came out with two large buns. We chewed on these
as we went over the road at the end past the Round Church. I was chewing
over in my mind all that had happened today.
What a day! People I'd met, things I'd seen, things I'd done, things
said, things unsaid. I thought I must be a bit like poor Frankie. All
sorts of important, growing-up things happening and I needed to talk, to
hear, to understand.
When we reached the Arundel I said I would go up and make a phone-call
while he booked the table. Frankie answered it on the second ring. He
must have been delegated to sit and take any messages.
"Yeah, and what happened?" was his first question.
"Don't you think I ought to speak to Mum?" I replied.
"I can shout!" He was getting a bit shirty.
"Hi, Mark," came Mum's voice. She must have picked up the extension
upstairs.
"Well, what?" came Francis on the phone downstairs.
"Mum," I said and my voice cracked, "I've been offered a place for
Maths. I don't know about the audition. I think I played OK and the
questions I was asked were OK."
Mum sensed I was rather, to say the least, emotional. "That's good.
They'll let you know about the other soon."
Frankie had listened without interrupting. "Oh, Marky, I'm so glad.
You're in!"
"I'll tell you all about it when I get home tomorrow. I've met some
interesting people and even if I don't get to be the Organ Scholar I think
I'll like it. And Ivo and Adam send their love. Tell Dad won't you."
"Bye, love," came Mum's voice and "See you," from Francis.
Short and sweet! I put the phone down and lay on the bed. Oh, what a
day! But, I was pleased about the offer from Professor Tanner. I suppose
if I didn't get the Scholarship I would be happy? I would, but it would be
nice to have those beautiful rooms. And I didn't know what the ordinary
student rooms were like. I thought of Adam and Ivo. Mum had said last
week we were all invited to the villa in Italy for the Summer but she and
Dad wouldn't be able to go as the orchestra was going on an overseas tour
and she had volunteered to help the librarian and do any of the many chores
necessary to smooth the way. There would be fun and high jinks at the
villa and poor Aldo would be harried and hurried as usual. But he was so
good-natured and he and Uncle Francesco obviously liked us there or we
wouldn't be invited. I was woken from my dreamy reverie by Tris lying
beside me.
"You amaze me, Marky," he said softly, "I would have been so nervous
having to show what I could do all by myself like you did this afternoon.
At least when I had my interview there were seven others and we couldn't
all talk at once so I had time to think. You were so poised and you didn't
flap." He stroked my cheek. "You'll be here at St Mark's anyway with me
and that's all I want."
"I've still got to get the A level grades next year," I said.
"And I've still got two more exams next week," he said, "School on
Monday. Oh blast!"
We contemplated the iniquitousness of our schoolboy existence and
realised it didn't finish with the last school bell. We had at least three
years each of further study and then what did the future hold? I think it
was the first time such realities had hit home. I think Tris had the same
thoughts as he was now restless.
"Come on, up," he commanded. "We'd better be tidy if the so-elegant
Charles is joining us." He grinned. "I wonder what we'll find out
tonight." He shook his head but his hair wasn't long enough and too-gelled
to flop. "Come on my dear, let's prink and perm ourselves...."
"....Don't take the mickey," I said, "I think there's more to Charles
than meets the eye."
We showered, without arousal, and washed and scented ourselves
discreetly with some of Uncle Nick's lotion Tris had appropriated. "He's
much too old for this," Tris said as he held up the bottle, shaped like the
torso of a well-proportioned young man . "Wasted on him, and what was one
of his clients doing giving it to him? I took it before Mum saw it. Bet
it was some floozie he was getting a divorce for with the hots for him!"
True, Uncle Nick was a looker still and the photos of him as a teenager
in the album Tris had shown me were something to drool over, especially in
his running togs. No wonder I had fallen for his son!
To be Continued: